


Methods

by liketogetlost



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketogetlost/pseuds/liketogetlost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right, Billie Piper. Teen pop star, bubblegum and glitter music, not his thing. But he's heard of her. She only landed on his radar tonight, when she miraculously ended up on top of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Methods

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading/watching too much _Lolita_ , what can I say. Set in 2000, which puts Billie at 17 and makes Chris around 35.

He's discussing American politics with his mate on the pavement outside his favorite pub when she stumbles into him and steps on his foot.

She falls against him and he forgets his mates name.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" But she's laughing, along with two girlfriends, who've followed her out of the nightclub next door. The brush of her laugh tickles his cheek and he smells a mixture of rum, cigarettes and strawberry shampoo. He grips her waist to steady her and he's almost sorry to lose the pressure of her heel on his toe.

"You alright?" He really should let go of her waist.

She does this gaspy breath thing and sweeps blond locks out of her eyes. "Yes, yes." Another group giggle. "Fine, thanks." She smiles up at him, pats him on the arm like that's the switch to get him to pull away, so he does. But she sticks around. He's only had a pint but suddenly he feels quite drunk.

Her friends are loud and drawing looks, but she stays quiet by his side, tapping her toe and tapping the burning ash off the end of her Parliament. "Waiting for a taxi?" 

"Yep. Going north, you?"

"Me too! We should share!"

"All of us?" But it's too late, a taxi pulls up and the girls are piling in, one in the front and one in the back. Somehow his friend -- Liam, right -- has managed to get in first and it's only him and the girl left to shove in. He folds himself up in the backseat awkwardly, limbs too long and large and knees practically hitting him in the chin. He slides over to give her bum at least half a foot of room but she tosses her cig and rolls her eyes as she plants herself on his lap.

"Right, let's go!" She slams the car door and he jumps, making her bounce against him and laugh with abandon. "Hope I'm not too heavy, mate." 

"No, no. Not at all." He coughs for no reason, wondering where to put his hands, suddenly aware of her tight, shiny dress and how it's gathered quite a bit at her waist. The cab starts, turning the night into a blur of buildings and light. She shifts, adjusting herself comfortably, and he stills her with hands at her hips without thinking twice about it. She looks over her shoulder at him, her mouth, candy red lipstick fading and a bit smudged, inches from his nose and she smirks.

"You're familiar."

He swallows, nods. Keeps his hands at her sides. "Soarewe."

"Sorry?"

Ahem. "So are you."

She rolls her eyes and he only sees how young she must be then. "Yeah, but I don't wanna be. You've probably seen my music videos."

They drive over a pothole and she squeals, leaning back into him as they lurch and slide in the seat, her bottom bouncing hard against his lap and making him cough again. Hard.

Right, Billie Piper. Teen pop star, bubblegum and glitter music, not his thing. But he's heard of her. She only landed on his radar tonight, when she miraculously ended up on top of him.

"And you!" She yells suddenly, causing her friends to look over and laugh. "Oh God, this is that bloke, from the films! Remember, Sharon, we saw, oh God, we saw your bum in _Elizabeth_!"

He thought he'd stopped blushing in grade school, but he feels the tips of his ears burn as the whole car, including fucking Liam, erupts in laughter. "Yeah, that was me."

"My girlfriend loves that movie. I've seen your arse too many times, mate." Liam elbows him in the side but he just glares at him from the corner of his eye.

The girl, Billie, turns and winks at him. "It's a nice arse. Um."

"Christopher."

"Right, Chris!" She says, smiling around his nickname. Most people don't get to call him Chris until they really get to know him, but then he can tell she's not like most people.

\--

His fingers tense and relax at the softness of her hips when she leans over the seats to kiss her friend goodbye. As awkward as he felt about it before, he's suddenly afraid she'll move to the front seat, taking her warm curves with her. She doesn't.

It's only when Sharon gets out of the back, and fucking Liam slides across the seat, does he reluctantly let go of her so she can sit next to him. She moves like an afterthought, waiting until the car is creeping down the street again, first letting one leg snake down onto the leather, and finally letting the other follow after she's spent what feels like ages straddling one thigh. She drops next to him, grinning like it's nothing and slouching low in the seat.

Of course they're the last ones left. He sees Liam off with a nod and a grunt as he gets out, chuckling to himself. Billie stays by his side and lets her head rest on his arm.

He's never been one for younger women. Most of the time they make his head hurt and his knees ache, they make him feel like an old man. Women his age have always been more than enough to suit him, let him feel like he's speaking to someone with a mind. Letting him rest.

As they drive closer to his flat, he finds himself desperate to keep her next to him as long as possible.

She yawns, loud and long, her mouth opening into a wide, obscene o, as she stretches next to him. The cab stops and he looks from her to his door like it's one or the other. 

"Oh." She says, her voice heavy with the night. "Is this you?" He nods. "Could I use your loo?"

He pays the driver and forgets to be angry that everyone ahead of him neglected this step.

\--

He turns on the telly while she's in the bathroom. He doesn't know why, he rarely watches it. It's like he doesn't know what to do with himself, having her there.

"Wow." He drops the remote on the floor as she comes into the living room. He notes that she's lost her shoes somewhere between his front door and now. "This is like a proper adult flat." 

His chuckle shakes him more than his nerves, and he nods. "Yeah, well. I guess I'm a proper adult." He lets himself look at her.

Her bare toes curl into the thick Berber carpet beneath her feet, her legs look shorter but none the less fantastic without her heels. She wears no jewelry, just a lot of mascara and some lipstick that's all but licked away now. If he was in any position to tell her so, he'd tell her that her dress, a shiny, silky dark blue number, is inappropriate for her age and clings in all the wrong, rather right, places for her figure. She's taken her hair down and besides loving the way it curves around her face, he thinks she must have left her hair tie in his bathroom and it makes him smile.

"Ummm, I guess I should probably call another taxi."

"Oh, well. It's pretty late. I mean, is anyone, is there anyone who could pick you up?"

She bites her lip and shakes her head. "S'just me." 

He coughs, suddenly dying for a drink. "You could, do you want to stay here tonight?"

She raises one eyebrow and smirks. "I'm not in the habit of sleeping over at strangers flats."

"Well, I'm not in the habit of bringing young, pretty girls home to. Not sleep with them." He's said a bit too much, there. "Besides, I'm no stranger. I'm in films. You've seen my bum."

She laughs and he grins. "Want a drink?"

"Oh, I'm alright. Had enough for tonight, I'm only coming around now."

"No, I meant tea or something." 

"Oh." She blushes and he, having just retrieved the remote from the floor, drops it again. "Tea would be lovely, thanks."

\--

He returns from the kitchen with two steaming cups of tea to find her stretching on her tip toes in front of his bookshelves. 

"Shakespeare, Stanislavski. You're quite dedicated." She turns with a grin, and takes her tea with a thanks. Downs half of it in one go, and licks her lips when she's done. "Just right, ta."

He sits on the couch, in front of the muted television and she follows suit. "I love acting. Actually, I, well I wanted to be an actress at first." 

He raises one eyebrow, sipping and swallowing his own tea leisurely. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean. I dunno if I have any talent, I just like doing it."

"You should. If you love it that much." They smile at each other until she starts to yawn. 

"Christ, what a night. I'm too old for this." She grins again, flashing him tongue between shiny teeth and he hopes she can't hear his heart beating faster.

"Right, well, you take my room. I'll have the couch. There's um, towels and things in the hall closet and I can find you something to wear."

"Well, you've got this all planned, don't you, _Chris_?" She teases him, gripping his knee as she stands and brushing past him. "A shower sounds like Heaven, come to think of it."

He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.

As he changes from jeans to sweats, he tries to figure it out. He has no plans to sleep with her, not really. Well. The thought of her, in his shower, using his bath gel and washcloth and drying herself off on his towels, just.

This is not why he asked her to stay. There was just something in her eyes that told him she'd spent enough nights on her own. Something that told him she was a better actress than she thought she was.

"Chris?" She calls him from the bathroom, the door opened a crack. He hurries over with an old t-shirt and jogging shorts and pushes them through the door. "Thanks."

When she comes out, she looks her age, and she looks fucking gorgeous. All the makeup gone, her hair wet and dripping onto her shoulders, the water creating shapes on the fabric of his shirt. She stands in his living room, like she doesn't know what to do next and fuck, no. That is not why he asked her to stay.

"So, um. Thanks for tonight." 

"Of course."

"I guess I'll be going to bed, then."

"Alright. I hope it's comfortable for you."

She rolls her eyes before turning into the hall. "Goodnight, then."

"Night."

\--

The couch is like a fucking torture rack. Fine to sit on, hell to sleep on. His long frame is too large to fit comfortably so his feet hang off one of the arms and his head digs into the other. Laying on his side, he has to bend his knees, which wind up jutting out over the edge of the cushions. Bits and bobs from beneath poke and prod at sore muscles and he tosses and turns, desperate for a burglar to come in and knock his lights out just for some rest.

The idea of her in his room, in his bed, snug beneath his covers doesn't help sleep come any quicker, either.

But it does creep up on him, eventually. And so does she. He thinks he's dreaming of her, straddling his waist, smelling of his laundry soap and something else, something sweet and fresh. It's a dream, after all, so he lets his hands go where they wish, taking a smooth ride up her bare thighs and resting on her hips. It's only when his mind registers the weight on top of him, and the sigh he feels on his face, does he realize she's really there.

"Billie?" He whispers, not knowing exactly why. It seems too fragile a moment to speak any louder. The odd thought that she's never actually told him her name crosses his mind as she smiles down at him.

"I kept waiting for you to come in."

She's far too warm, and far too soft, and he's far too gone now to continue being a gentleman. But. "I wasn't going to."

She giggles, and kisses his nose. "I know, that's why I'm here."

He groans, and catches her mouth with his own. Her tongue finds his first and she tastes of Parliaments and tea. He sits up, his hands finding the hem of her, _his_ shirt, just as she starts to pull it over her head. 

"One step ahead, eh?"

"Gotta keep up, old man." There's a lightness in her eyes that makes him giddy and he kisses her harder, deeper, drawing little whimpers from her throat into his mouth to swallow. Large hands slide up and down her back, and she shifts closer, knees digging into the couch on either side of him, her clever hips working above him and focusing all the tension in his body on one specific area. 

His lips trail down her neck and her hair tickles his nose as he tastes her, breathes her in. When his mouth finds her chest he sucks at the peaks and valleys he finds there, pulling her closer and growling against her ribcage.

"Oh, oh." Her nails rake down his neck and make him nip at her skin, make her gasp and push him away.

"What?" He's panting like he's just finished jogging a marathon.

She breathes harder herself and paws at the neck of his jumper. "Shirt, off." 

He grins and pulls at the back of the shirt, yanking it over his head and off. "Eager, are we?" He doesn't let her answer before he's kissing her again, holding her flush against him, skin to skin, feeling her chest rise and fall with each short breath she takes.

It's like when he was young, pawing and groping in the back of the theatre, on the girls parent's couch, desperate and clumsy and he almost feels like he's about to be caught. Something this good has to be wrong. 

His fingers creep past the waistband of the jogging shorts she wears, discover soft curls and warm wetness and he finds he can pull the loveliest noises from her with just a few light touches. 

"Chris, please." She buries her face in his neck as his long digits stroke and dip between her legs. She comes without warning, shaking in his arms and gasping into his chest. It's too quick, and too fucking beautiful, and he needs to make it happen again.

She pulls away and laughs. "God, that was..." Her tongue wets her lips and she shakes her head, eyelids drifting closed.

"Nothing." He says through a smile. 

\--

He wakes to find her stumbling in front of his bed to put on her heels. 

"Sorry, did I wake you?" She doesn't slow down, just does the buckle at her ankle and adjusts the hem of her dress around her thighs. 

"No, I was just pretending to sleep. Where are you going?"

She avoids his eye as she runs around his bedroom, looking for nothing. "I um, I." She stops, and sighs. "I'm seeing someone."

"Oh." She's too young to be the one to be doing the leaving, isn't she?

"Yeah, I'm sorry. We're not exclusive, but I was hoping..." She grabs her handbag from the nightstand and shivers a little. 

He nods, wishing she'd at least stay for coffee and knowing there's no use in asking. "Take my shirt, it's a bit cold out."

She smiles an apology and a thank you all at once, before pulling it over her head. "I'll send it back in the post."

"Nonsense. You'll hand it over in person." He feels daft, naked under the covers and being dumped by a kid. But she's not a kid, not really. He can see that. It was clear from the moment her heel hit his toe.

"You're a doll, Chris." She kisses him, quick, and it takes him a moment to recover. 

She's turning into the hall when he calls her name. "Yeah?"

"Take the Stanislavski, alright?" 

Her eyes water, and she smiles, nodding the tears away. His head hits his pillow as he hears the door click shut.

\--

They haven't even been properly introduced yet when she tosses something to him that lands draped over his head. He pulls it off and grins down at the old t-shirt, blushing a bit at the ears. 

"Think this belongs to you, _Doctor_."


End file.
